Pathway to Japanese Literature

In that village, there were two old and prestigious wealthy households.
Now, there were supposed to be two—no, rather, there were only two.
However, on the very morning of the Kanekawa family’s wedding, the Kanbara family’s retired matriarch had passed away.
Her death had been unavoidable—it had been no one’s scheme.
I must clarify that in this peaceful village, not a single soul was on bad terms with another, and I wish to convince you that the unsettling notion—which astute readers have no doubt rashly imagined—of there being discord between the Kanekawa and Kanbara families is clearly a misunderstanding.

The head of the Kanbara family was an exceedingly timid man of forty-two or forty-three. This fated weakling found himself plunged into panic the moment his mother breathed her last, as he contemplated the vexing matter of what a celebratory day this was meant to be for the village. To put it plainly, he gasped sharply while brooding over the Kanekawa family's superstitious old stickler.

“Ofune...” he called out to his wife in a frail voice after lengthy deliberation—yet from his ashen complexion, slumped shoulders, and oddly quivering lips, one could see he’d summoned tremendous resolve. “I know you’re well-versed in such things, but listen—they say even noble houses sometimes postpone announcing a death for a day or so...”

However, the sharp-eyed wife had interpreted her husband’s ulterior motives in the worst possible light.
That said, of course, her assessment had been half right—there was no denying that.
Kanbara Hansaemon was a slovenly drunkard.
Above all, drinking the treat liquor from other households was particularly to his taste.
Moreover, while this man was utterly devoid of talents, he did possess one absolute specialty—none other than the crucial act of performing his dubious hand dance for the villagers.
Had this blissful moment of being showered with dazzling applause not existed, he would have hanged himself long ago—no, that was rude of me.
I had carelessly used an obscure term known only to a very small number of people.

“My, you’re saying such strange things!” With that, Ofune glared fiercely at Hansaemon. “Put your hand on your chest and think! We’re nowhere near noble status!”

Needless to say, the timid Hansaemon was easily crushed.

As for how things began, the opinion that the doctor was to blame spread throughout the village.
Of course, this was no criticism of his skill.
His injections had gained an excellent reputation early on—so much so that even patients burning with fever would flee from the needle in their deliriums or nightmares.
Therefore, mistakes in that regard could never have occurred.
The problem was his mouth.
That is to say, while that conversation was still being exchanged in a room of the Kanbara household, this ill-fated misfortune had already spread throughout the entire village.
If even his mouth hadn’t existed—then that timid yet stubbornly persistent Hansaemon, with his abnormal passion for drink and dance, would have petulantly sulked each time he remembered, and who knows what might have become of that short autumn day.

Now, the first to be surprised by the unexpectedness of the matter was none other than the monk of Rinrin Temple.
The greatest schemer who had set his sights on tonight’s feast might very well have been this monk.
Needless to say, this fellow was an astonishing drunkard.
Moreover, monks were figures who held more sway than anyone at banquets. “Heh heh, this here’s some fine prajna soup!
Well now, this karmic nuisance will never pass our lips again.”
Through such pretexts, it was customary to receive gifts of one or two shō.
Now, when it came to the Kanekawa family’s old man, he was indeed generous.
However, when it came to holding a wake—as astute readers have no doubt already discerned—Kanbara Hansaemon was an unparalleled miser in the region.
Blast!

According to an utterly inexplicable convention, monks are bound by this unbelievable constraint that they must abandon weddings and attend wakes at times like these!
Thus, there was sufficient reason why the monk of Rinrin Temple had abruptly plunged into misanthropic anguish.

Unaccustomed to anguish by nature, his corpulent body could neither suppress nor conceal his inner turmoil.
In other words, his sturdy arms would suddenly seize himself by the collar or—finding the situation too unfamiliar to manage—he would stick out his tongue.
But, as a result of his intense efforts, this satisfactory solution suddenly made him hop with joy like a sparrow.
He felt his body become light all at once.
So he hurriedly called in the novice monk.

“Dunce.”
“Here. Move up closer.”
“Rejoice!”
“Tonight, I’m entrusting you with a full-fledged important role, I tell you.”
(As he said this, the monk broke into a broad grin, unable to contain his delight.) “I’ve got important business tonight, see? I’m only going to attend to Mr. Kanbara’s during the day. So you’ll be my substitute tonight and serve as the presiding priest at the wake, I tell you.”
“Well now, how’s this then? Heh heh... You must be overjoyed and grateful beyond measure, I suppose...”

Having been told this, the novice monk was fourteen years old at the time.
Of course, this was counted from his birth—it wasn’t as though fourteen eons had passed since he became a novice monk.
The quick-witted novice monk scowled sullenly.
Then, while wiping his cheek with his apron, he made a deeply serious, troubled face.
And then,

“I don’t properly know the sutras yet…” he said.

“Oh now, that’s fine—just read from the book.”

“I can’t read the characters.”

“You blithering idiot!” the monk shouted reflexively, but in grave matters, it wouldn’t do to let reckless anger destroy oneself. Thereupon he assumed a sternly earnest expression. “A novice monk must read the sutras he’s meant to learn! Ugh—well, can’t be helped. Just keep repeating whatever sutras you know between breaks.” “WAH!” “I can’t stand this!” “WAH!” “Here—take the robe!” he cried while hastily changing into ceremonial attire. “Dunce, rejoice! Tonight you’ll feast splendidly too. No need to prepare your dinner!” With these weighty words, he hurried off.

At that very moment—in what might be called a fateful near-miss—a fiftyish village man named Gonju, the local bigwig, burst in frothing at the mouth.

“Where’s the Master?!”
“Something terrible’s happened!”
“WAAH WAAH WAAH!”
“The village is in crisis, I tell you!”
“Master, I’m telling you!”
“Give me water.”
“Tea’s better.…”

So the novice monk, thoroughly resentful to the marrow of the monk’s scheme, leaked the unscrupulous plot the monk had devised to Gonju.
Upon hearing the reason for the monk’s absence, Gonju was aghast and his face changed color—but in no time at all—OH!
With a fierce look that said "Exactly!", he—Wham!
Without another word, he began chasing after the monk—and there, this incident became muddled, as the narrative now leaps to another panic unfolding in one part of the village.

It was still around ten in the morning.
In these villages scattered deep in the mountains of our Empire, just imagining how this very hour hints at a peaceful life was a pleasant thing indeed.
Yet because it was autumn, the mountains and the terraced fields nestled in their folds turned yellow or were tinged red, while cold dead branches thrust into the unseasonably chilly sky.
It was, so to speak, a desolate view, but despite that, the countryside is always peaceful.
No sooner would a shower rush past from the distant mountains, rustling fallen leaves, than the lingering inky black clouds would suddenly split apart, revealing glimpses of a vivid azure sky through their fissures.
As the dull sunlight swiftly illuminated only a portion of the damp mountainside, yet another shower came scrambling frantically out from deep within the mountains.
It was precisely such a moment.
Our diligent Hyakubei was tending to the third tier from the top of Heirakusan’s terraced fields.
Then, suddenly, a single black mass surged up from a hollow in the valley bottom, thrusting upward like a fuse snaking its way until it silently clung to Hyakubei’s waist, and the two of them became one as they sank into the field.
From the impact, Hyakubei had his solar plexus powerfully kicked upward and was about to cleanly lose consciousness into autumn's depths when the bizarre figure said, “Pops, if it hurts, just bear it quietly.”
“People can’t endure unless they’re hurtin’.”
“The village is in crisis!” he declared while comforting the anguished Hyakubei, and thus it became clear this was his son Kankurō.

This kind of grievous upheaval—one might even have said suggestive of revolution—had rippled out like radio waves beneath thatch roofs where harvests had ended, before woodcutter’s huts, and along mountain pass roads.
In that very moment, it must have made them think: “Ah, what will become of this village?”
The entire village became one solemn chorus resonating as if from the earth’s depths: “We can’t go on like this.
“We can’t go on like this,” they groaned.
Then the village itself became a single disturbance—now sitting or standing, now staring fixedly at some spot in space as if it were a hole, now shifting like a burial mound beginning to settle, now fidgeting restlessly with growing irritation.
As for how the mountain raccoons and grove crows—creatures of sensitive nerves—came to harbor such divergent thoughts, this became evident when they changed color, leapt from their nests, and suddenly began running about in a frenzy.

Truly, sympathetic readers would surely not begrudge shedding a tear for their plight—yet these villagers now stood to lose what might be not just an annual, but perhaps even a once-in-a-lifetime chance to partake in such rare delicacies of land and sea. How utterly cruel this was! If they were to visit the wedding after attending the wake, the stubborn old man of the palanquin bearers would surely not rest until he had his family and followers wield clubs to massacre them all. On the other hand, should they defile the sanctity of Kanbara’s household in their tipsy state after returning from the wedding, then hysterical Ofune—now harboring a demon—would undoubtedly begin demanding debt repayments before the seventh-day memorial service had even passed, and soon a whole regiment of bailiffs would come swarming into their snowbound village.

From somewhere in the village arose an urgent call for everyone to gather at the school.
This was a stroke of genius, like a golden aphorism.
The villagers—unable to restrain their own hearts (no—their stomachs!)—these millions of them (though in truth a population of two hundred thirty-six), paid no heed to the threads of rain lashing into their bloodshot eyes as they held their breath and stampeded toward the hall of knowledge.
When viewed from a distant mountain, they resembled diligent ants—that hurried procession which neither thinks nor makes a sound.
Looking at this apt example, we can see that what is often imposed upon people as "temporal correctness" is but one of those virtues difficult to strictly observe except through unparalleled tension alone.
These tiny specks that had emerged from every mountain shadow and valley floor were indeed all sucked into the school gate in less than five minutes!
In the village, not a single human figure could now be found.
And a desolate autumn remained.

Now, this day happened to be a Sunday.
Considering it was Sunday—the very day when those sincere teachers who absolutely, even desperately detested showing their faces at school had nonetheless rushed there with equally desperate fervor—what could this mean?
What in the world was this?

The villagers gathered in the rainy-day gymnasium.
And in an instant, the venue turned pale—whereupon the village dignitaries and teachers who had been deep in secret discussions in the faculty room entered wearing bronze death masks, accompanied by a twilight aura.
The first to ascend the podium was, needless to say, the principal.
Perhaps due to intense heartache, he had become completely flushed and was moreover trembling minutely.
This stemmed partly from his inherent disposition, of course, but also because—unlike the Kanekawa family which had no school-age children—most groups within the Kanbara family did have children.
Given this close connection, the teachers naturally had to attend the wake!
Indeed! They found themselves compelled by circumstance to attend.

“Gentlemen! What is the meaning of this!”
(As he said this, he slammed the desk with all his might—but putting too much force into it, he suddenly fell into a daze and clamped his own mouth shut.) “Exactly! What an outrage this was!”
(And he drank water.) “What in the world is this?! She died! Were you truly shocked?! You were truly shocked!”
(And yet, it was he himself who was shocked by these words.)
He cast a gaze seeking help toward the group of dignitaries on one side.
However, since they had already begun to grow sufficiently excited by his words, they met his gaze with rather perplexed expressions.
The principal grew irritated—but this time summoning up grievous passion—he even shut his eyes and began screaming: “Beloved gentlemen! Is it permissible for human beings to die on their wedding day?! No! No! No! Yet she died! What an outrage! Outrageous! Consider this, gentlemen!”

“Do you gentlemen wish to die on your wedding day?!”
“Absolutely not!”
“We do not wish to die on any day whatsoever!”
“Yet she died!”
“Isn’t this utterly bizarre!”
“This is an outrage!”
“We are pitiable!”
“We have toiled tirelessly in educational endeavors here for thirty-odd years—could this truly be the first time such a thing has occurred?!”
“It is indeed the first time!”
“Therefore, gentlemen!”
“Is this not indeed a bizarre event in our thirty-odd years?!”
“Could such a thing have truly occurred thirty-odd years ago?!”
“I know not!”
“Therefore, gentlemen!”
“Might this not be a bizarre event since the dawn of creation?!”
“WAH!”
“Gentlemen!”
“Japan is in peril!”
“If we’re not careful, Japan is in danger!”

When these words were spoken, the entire audience was startled.
Even more startled than them was the principal himself.
He had been so painfully moved by his own conclusion that he was clawing violently at his chest when suddenly he spun around, leapt off the podium, and collapsed into his chair while weeping profusely.
Unfortunately, the great principal had become too overcome before offering any brilliant solutions to the pressing matter at hand.
Next, the crowd’s heads began swaying restlessly with a rustling murmur.
Truly, for a mere 236 people to shoulder an unprecedented national crisis must have been disheartening.
An overburdened passion cannot last long.
Their fervor had apparently swung back to the immediate village crisis.

Thereupon, a young teacher with an artistically styled head ascended to the podium with the measured steps of one who had single-handedly shouldered the burden of composure.
The very fact that there was composure in this commotion was already a tremendous marvel in itself, so merely seeing his figure made people feel a weighty sense of reassurance.

“Everyone!”
(With that, he first used gentle words) “I trust you’ve all come to understand through the great principal’s address that this sudden event constitutes an unprecedented crisis.”
“However, the strange incident of Okuwa-san passing away on the wedding day is now an established fact. Unfortunately, these two events—the wedding and wake—can no longer be altered.”
“Therefore, as an immediate concern, we must devise a practical solution that accommodates both ceremonies.”
(As he spoke these words, the entire hall stirred with shared agitation in a dreamlike state) “This is how I propose we proceed, gentlemen!”
(Now adopting harsh tones) “While weddings concern both men and women—this itself poses no issue—the fact remains that today’s deceased was Okuwa-san: mother to Kanbara Hansaemon and wife to the late Ichizaemon. From these facts alone, I must conclude she was female.”
“If so, then according to our nation’s wholesome customs, women must attend the wake!”
“If the deceased is female, why must women attend?”
“Because were she male, men would be obliged to go!”
“Moreover, had she been male, wouldn’t men have unquestionably attended?!”
“Yet she was female.”
“Therefore, women must go!”
“In short—the women of our village shall attend the wake, while the men attend the wedding!”

As he concluded thus and was descending from the podium, all the men in the hall were so overjoyed that they involuntarily slapped their foreheads and teetered on the brink of frenzy.
But before he had fully descended, several female teachers rushed onto the podium all at once.
They began a fierce tussle on the platform, each vying to deliver her own speech while hurling curses at men in unison.
Every man and woman in the hall rose to their feet, and it seemed a bloody clash might erupt at any moment.
Had the shrewd doctor not appeared when he did, none could say how this affair might have ended.

The Doctor—this Doctor who had ignited the incident—that man was being denounced as a traitor on this day due to his careless tongue, but he was by no means a bad person.
Injections—of course those existed too.
However, generally speaking in this case, it was a problem with the injections themselves, and he himself had absolutely no intent to commit murder.
Therefore, he was completely blameless.
In reality, he was a good person.
And though he had given up on medicine itself, he possessed a sincere conscience that made him want to bare his shoulders for the village in matters outside of medicine.
And so this upstanding individual ascended to the podium, raising both hands to quell the chaotic venue.
Then, with sinuous, practiced hands, he pulled apart the scuffling female teachers.
And these grave gestures were so spiritually compelling that even the valiant women fell silent and lost their vigor in astonishment.
Thus, he began his speech with a posture as if dancing.

“Ladies and gentlemen!
“Be still!
“This humble medical scholar has ascended the podium!
“Since the medical scholar has taken the podium, be still!
“Be at ease!
(Though he shouted this, he was in fact no true medical scholar.) ‘Ladies and gentlemen, you must respect medicine!’
‘For it is because medicine is great!’
‘Therefore you must respect medical scholars. Ladies and gentlemen, you are laypeople, and laypeople are not great.’
‘Since this humble medical scholar is a medical scholar, you must trust my words.’
‘Therefore—’ (and here he raised his voice a notch) ‘—according to what medicine proves, the deceased of the Kanbara household has revived for one day’s span!’
(Having been told this, the audience couldn’t make heads or tails of his words.) ‘Gentlemen!
‘According to the supremely great science of medicine, it has been established that apparent death often occurs in people.’
‘This morning, Okuwa-san died.’
‘This is a fact.’
‘Now, Okuwa-san has revived.’
‘This is also a fact.’
‘Tomorrow, Okuwa-san will die.’
‘This, too, can be nothing other than a fact.’
‘Gentlemen, since medicine is great, you must not doubt medicine!’
‘Therefore, you must respect medical scholars!’”

“The deceased has revived for one day’s span!”
“The wake must be postponed until tomorrow night!”

Undoubtedly, those in our nation who most acutely tasted the greatness of medicine at this moment were none other than these villagers. Some were sniffling. Some staggered. The Principal cried out, “Oh, great and venerable…!” and with that bit the Doctor’s hand while wailing. Thereupon, the crowd—ecstatic with joy—made their way to the Kanbara house to report Okuwa-san’s revival—but as a result of this curious medical phenomenon, what exactly became of Kanbara Hansaemon?

“Ofune—” Meanwhile, ten minutes later, Kanbara Hansaemon began speaking to his wife, startled by the commotion at the gate. “It can’t be that the wake attendees have come at this hour, can it? If it comes to serving dinner—I don’t particularly mind, but… well, Ofune…”

“How should I know?!”
“I am not the master of this household!”
“Whether you serve it or not is entirely up to you!”

And, while they were saying this, the noisy commotion had densely packed the entire garden.
There were also voices shouting “Banzai”.
There were those who said, “Congratulations!”
Among them were cries of “Great Medicine” and “Our Medical Scholar”.
There were also phrases that were puzzling to comprehend.
Truly, in the history of this village, there had never been an instance where medicine had been so great.
Kanbara Hansaemon was utterly flustered.
If one wasn’t careful, they might have mixed up the wedding and the wake.
In any case, it was an eerie incident.
So he timidly made his way to the entrance, but the moment he craned his neck past the screen, he was engulfed in an utterly baffling uproar and stood dumbfounded.

“I don’t quite understand…” Hansaemon tearfully appealed to a nearby man. “What on earth do you mean by ‘alive’ and ‘congratulations’? In other words, are you saying it’s congratulations that I’m alive like this?” “In that case, I—I’ll say it plainly—there’s nothing to congratulate!”

“Well, exactly.”
“Your being alive isn’t anything worth congratulating,” one villager replied.
“What’s truly fortunate, master, is that the retired one has come back to life—that’s how it is.”
“Medicine is great.”
“Right, Doctor?”

“Indeed!” The great medical scholar stepped forward.
“The retired one of this household has revived for one day’s span.
You must trust in great medicine!
Therefore you must trust the great medical scholar!”

“Granny’s come back to life?” Kanbara Hansaemon asked in astonishment, but then suddenly bounded up with joy. “Ah! Granny’s alive!”
“Granny lived for a day!”
“How grateful!”
“The wake’s been set for tomorrow night!”
“Granny’s revived for one day’s span!”

“How should I know?!” At that moment, Ofune thrust out her sullen face.
“What a bunch of drunken, villainous lunatics you all are! Our granny’s been lying cold in the altar room since morning!”

“That’s what you call amateur thinking!”
The villagers all at once became enraged and shouted.
“Medicine is a great thing!”
“It’s precisely because amateurs can’t understand it that it’s great!”

“Ofune, you must keep your composure,” Kanbara Hansaemon admonished his wife.
“After all, medicine is a remarkable thing.
“It’s not something we can comprehend.
“We’ve got to obey the great Doctor’s words.”

And indeed, while his tone faltered in these words, one could sense an uncharacteristically tenacious offensive beneath them. No doubt he was so overwhelmed by joy that he forgot all about the impending retribution. Thus, this situation marked Ofune’s defeat. Thereupon, following the most common formula of defeat—that of delivering a defiant parting shot like Kihachi’s dramatic final line—Ofune sealed her fate as follows.

“What the—that quack! A great Doctor who killed someone with an injection—how can there be such a thing?!”

“No, no—that’s not how it is!” (And—behold, Kanbara Hansaemon pressed his offensive further!) “With a great Doctor like this, isn’t it precisely because the patient died that they were saved?! If this were left to amateurs, who knows what would happen!”

The instant she did, Ofune transformed into a demon and vanished into the back room.—Kanbara Hansaemon’s future position would undoubtedly be utterly pitiful. Even amidst the frenzied crowd, there were two or three people who sympathized with Kanbara Hansaemon and felt truly sorry for him. However, as for Kanbara Hansaemon himself, he was growing ever more ecstatic. He had become so overjoyed that he lost control of his body and, like an over-speeding car, turned utterly carefree in his good humor. He rubbed his hands together and addressed the villagers with these words.

“I’d been racking my brains trying to manage that one day’s situation somehow, but I never imagined medicine could be this magnificent!”
“What can you expect from an uneducated fool like me?”
“Never dreamed she’d actually come back to life.”
“What a blessed turn of events... or so they say...”

“The master’s a filial son, after all.”
“That must be it…” shouted a taciturn man, eyes glistening with emotion.
“Nothing could be more auspicious!”
“There’s nothing more auspicious than this!”
“Master—first things first, we need celebratory sake!”

Sake!
They were astonished!
This carelessness defied all bounds!
The astonished crowd panicked and shouted.

“A celebratory toast!”
“The retired matriarch’s birthday!”
“Sake!”
“Sake! Sake! Sake!”

“But…” Kanbara Hansaemon was clearly flustered.
Then he grew terribly flustered!
And then—

“But Granny’s dead!” he said.

“Oh! You’re just an amateur, Master! What are you up to, Master? Are you scheming to kill your own mother a day early?!”

And then, that taciturn farmer pressed on with nearly visible anger.
Then, the police officer from the station post shrugged his shoulders from behind the crowd and made his saber clatter.
Kanbara Hansaemon became flustered and confused.

“I didn’t kill anyone.”
“But Granny’s been dead since this morning!”
……”

“Oh!
“Who said that?!”

“The doctor—!”

“Ahem!”

With a throat-clearing, the Doctor looked up at the sky.

Kanbara Hansaemon covered his mouth, tears streaming down his cheeks.
He was utterly trapped.
Suddenly raising his face with desperate resolve, he began frantically scanning the crowd with a terrifying expression.
Upon spotting Jirōsuke of Mikawa-ya, he cried out in a death-throes voice:

“Jirōsuke, just one shō of the cheapest…”

But the crowd, having completely misheard, kindly intervened on Jirōsuke’s behalf.

“A whole barrel of good sake!”

Gentlemen, sincere agonizing surely brings good reward.
And thus, the earnest villagers managed to enjoy two grand drinking feasts in a single day.
But even Kanbara Hansaemon suffered no great loss.
At that night's dazzling banquet, he succeeded in demonstrating his signature hand dance.
He discharged the day's pent-up frustrations and bathed in matchless happiness.

In Tokyo, where I had become a withered tree with pallid nerves, upon unexpectedly hearing of this incident, I was so moved that I nearly collapsed.
Truly, I know no story so overflowing with such rich emotion and verdant life.
As I listened to this tale, I realized a refreshing window had opened in my heart.
And through that window, I gazed at my heart wandering into a dream like the azure sky.
Living—and persisting through such tremendous heartache—is such a joyous thing!
And it is something veiled in endless colors, like Harikin’s clothes.
I must change my way of life.
And so, to completely discard my melancholy, I set out on a journey, groaning in excitement all along the way.
I stuffed cognac into my rucksack.
And then to a peaceful mountain village.

But at the terraced fields of my destination, I saw only farmers as bored as scarecrows.
There was that dreadful tragedian—the sort of human we’d grown sick of seeing.
The whole village lay sprawled like an endless yawn.

At this point, you gentlemen think.
That is true life.
That story could not possibly exist—that must be a lie.
Absolutely not!
With unshakable resolve!
That is undeniably a true event!
Even if we consult the bag of our modest hearts—that is to say, what is called our sin-laden conscience—ah, but this is rude!
It was a grave mistake of mine to have imposed my own vices upon you sacred gentlemen, but—
And so, in any case, I returned to my old haunt, abnormally disheartened, but—
Ever since then, as for whether that or this constitutes true life, my dim-witted self remains utterly clueless to this day.
Ah.